The Worst Actions
by Caeribormaith
Summary: Deceit. Five years away from home under the disguise of suicide, a young woman returns to Konoha bringing the same burden she left with. Some things never change. And sometimes, life isn't always what it seems to be. Possible KakashixOC
1. Prologue

_Devastated_, he thought to himself, _Horrified. Shocked. None are right._ What words could he possibly use to describe the emotions that tore through his body? None seemed to express the sorrow which flooded his heart, choking all life from his blood until he was sure that he would die from the agony. His body felt as though it would burst, taking away his life by misery. And had not the confusion engulfed his mind, he would have ended his days right then and there.

Instead, he lived as a punishment. Endured the pain that she must have felt, for he had been too blind to help her.

Hard to believe that only a few days ago he had been holding her as she wept bitterly against his chest. His pleading with her went unrewarded. She could not tell him the troubles that had been thrust upon her, would not let him carry the burden as well. Between her sobs, she could only shake her head when he continued inquiring; shuddering, she'd clutch him tighter. And at last, she cried herself to sleep.

He never left her side that night. His hand stroked her hair in a steady rhythm as she whimpered piteously and trembled in her nightmare filled, restless slumber. He felt helpless, worthless knowing that he was incapable of protecting her. Therefore, he contented himself with giving as much comfort as she would receive.

When she awoke, a mask of serenity was donned upon her face. It appeared that whatever thorn she had suffered from had resolved itself.

But she remained close to him, hardly letting him out of her sight in a clingy and protective way. It was apparent that she was still troubled, though trying her best not to show it. To him she was as easy to read as a book, but again, she denied that she was hurt, and only wished to spend the day with him. He knew better. She was not a physical person, preferring her space and freedom to being tied down to anything. Cuddling hardly occurred unless something was on her mind, but even then it was more flirtatious than needy.

And in the end, it was this that gave her away.

One final time, he asked if he could be her confidant; let him carry some of the pain. She refused, of course, shaking her head sadly and hugging herself. It was her barrier, telling him that the matter was not up for discussion, that she would let no one in.

It shocked him to hear her speak, asking softly that he not go out on his next mission. She begged him to stay, not wishing to be alone. He could only refuse. This rendezvous had been planned for months; he could not back out now. Her cries exploded at full force, her body shook in convulsions until she slid down the wall, collapsing on the floor in a heap of tears. So heart wrenching were her sobs, that he held his breath, determined not to give way.

Kneeling beside her, his hands found the small of her back, and he pulled her into his lap, kissing her tenderly and petting her until she was calm enough to understand the promise he was about to make. Upon his arrival, he had whispered, he would take her out and buy her a ring. He saw her eyes brighten ever so slightly at the prospect of possible marriage, despite their young age, and she nodded her consent.

But when he returned, it was only to find her body being dragged from the river.

He choked at the gruesome sight of her battered and broken body, looking like an abused and cast away doll. Her limbs appeared stiff, lying at awkward angles. Her flesh was beginning to wrinkle, though the skin of her face was pulled tightly across the bones. Dark bruises shown like beacons on her deadly white skin. Her hair was covered in mud, hanging in mats, plastered with blood to her neck. Eyes bulged hideously from their sockets, the whites beginning to turn gray; lips tinted with blue were parted slightly, a river plant hung wetly from her chin. The clothes she wore were torn and covered in pink splotches, places where he blood had been washed way. The flesh on her shoulder was in ribbons, and the bone peeking teasingly through the red wound.

His throat tightened as a crowd gathered, curious to know if the rumors were true. The world was fading out before his eyes and all that was left behind was the shattered figure of his lover. Staring any longer at her was not an option, but nor could he bring himself to look away from the grotesque, disfigured picture.

He swallowed the bile pooling in his mouth, grimacing at the taste, when a thought struck him.

Suicide?

Never again would he get to listen to her laughter as they fought over useless things. They could no longer throw punches at each other at their favorite training grounds. No more dragging one another home in a drunken stupor after drinking matches. Gone was the time to see each other off on missions. Too many walks had been untaken. Too much time had been spent taking for granted what they had. Lost were the days where he would watch her perform daily activities, or endure her teasing in the marketplace, or dodge the small items she was throwing in her childish fits of anger.

Pulled back from his thoughts as the silence was broken, there was a child's shriek lingering in the air. When everything had returned into focus, a small boy had thrown himself at the body, burying his head in her bosom as tears streamed down his face. The older of her two brothers approached calmly, kneeling by the younger one and watching him mourn.

But the man most hurt by the scene had already turned away, returning to his dwelling place to grieve in private.

_Devastated,_ he thought again as his head hung over the bowl. He vomited freely until his heaving produced nothing; and he knew that "devastation" was the closest word he could find to describe the emotion which flowed through his veins.

A thin layer of sweat glistened on his brow, dripping small crystals onto the rim of the porcelain bowl. The image of her loomed in his mind, haunting his thoughts as her dead eyes bore into his soul. It was almost as though she was begging to return. Wanting…forgiveness?

But he was the one in need of forgiveness, for it was his fault she was now dead.

How stupid he was to have missed such an obvious detail! Yet, was he the last one to have noticed it? Could it have been the reason she had taken her life, and the reason she requested his absolution? Impossible! But he was certain…

No. No, it had to be a mistake.

Her stomach could not have possibly bulged in such a way when he had left. Then again…she had appeared slightly rounder than usual. She had suffered from a small stomach flu a few weeks earlier. And her eating habits definitely had altered.

No doubt about it.

His lover had been with child.


	2. Chapter One The Child

"Oh sir," the woman cried out in forced over delight, "we are very much indebted to this good act you have done."

The 'kindest sir' nodded in reply, removing his hands from the shoulders of the child, a small girl, he had escorted home. He watched without amusement as she, the child, was pulled away from his side and embraced tightly against the woman's chest. She was then swatted on the rump and sent away, where she retired to the back of the room. Giving the two people one last look filled with disgust, she then took up a crouching position beneath an old table hiding somewhere beneath the clutter, in a shadowed and dusty corner. From this spot, she could watch the scene unfold without being in the way. Far enough not to be involved if a fight broke out but close enough to hear every word. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, and her chin was set firmly on her knees to take in every detail.

Using the apron to wipe away the fake tears from her eyes, the woman offered the man a cup of tea, asking, "Wherever did you find her? We were dreadfully worried. She is, after all, our only daughter. Our pride and joy. The very light of our existence," she turned to look at the girl, "Child, why must you worry us so? Whatever made you run out into that storm? Your father became so ill at ease from your actions that he fell over and has been in bed ever since."

_Drunk,_ the girl translated to herself, _He is passed out from his alcohol._

The man noticed the girl rolling her eyes in contradiction to the woman's statement. Apparently the innkeeper's wife was a liar.

"I found her trembling in the shadows," he answered the question presented to him at the beginning of the woman's speech, "I nearly missed her, the creature hid herself so well in a compost heap, finding warmth to wait out the storm," he looked at the girl, directing his next comment towards her, "But now that I'm here, you should gather your belongings so we can depart quickly. Your mother's final wish was that I find and raise you. She did not say, however, like my own, so you will not be treated as an equal to my children."

His face remained impassive though he had not expected the woman to drop the cup, spilling the liquid which ran in tiny streams across the floor. At the sound of the shatter, he noticed that even the girl did not flinch, though her eyes widened slightly in surprise. The woman stood, trying to look taller in her fury, her face flushed in anger, and she pointed an accusing finger at the man, "What do you think you're talking about? I am this girl's mother! How dare you enter my inn and make decisions for me! Who do you think you are? What do you…"

He left off listening to her rant and began examining his ward for the first time. She must have looked like her father, whoever he was, for he could find few similarities between herself and her mother. The child's hair hung in stringy tangles, the deep color of red burgundy apples; the strands clung messily to her muddy and dung streaked face. Her eyes were a light mossy green color, glossed over and shining with coldness, doorways to her stone heart. The irises were wide, looking strangely innocent in her face, and glittered at him with no child's emotion. Her face appeared long, the skin of her cheeks sagging slightly towards her jaw, but the bones of her face jutted outward, giving her the look of hollowness, taking on the impression of being nothing more than a skull covered with a thin layer of flesh. She wore a thin, flimsy blue dress, torn and patched up in numerous places. Though in some spots, the fabric was so worn that he could see her sallow colored skin beginning to show. She was a scrawny thing, bony and angular, her limbs hanging limply at her sides. The arms were overlong for her short body. Her nose appeared too small for her bobble-head face, and her sharp chin was set in a defiant position.

He judged her to be a sickly creature, a weak and disobedient child. She'd be troublesome to take care of. The fresh and fading bruises of punishment were evidence enough of that.

Bruises?

Turning to face her, he stared directly into her eyes. He surprised himself, hoping to find something human beneath her cold, misused exterior. For children, he knew, did not disobey for the pure joy of it. They have ulterior motives, though what they were, he could not say. But every child he had known had only one aim: to please the people they look up to, to find approval for their actions. Remembering that, he tried to look into her heart, find whatever she was hiding. Surely enough, there was a loneliness encompassing her; hope she once had lay shattered at her feet.

He felt pity moving him, his eyes softening towards her. Good food, a soft bed, a warm bath, and his wife's nurturing care would have her fixed up from her depressing state in no time.

"This child," he interrupted the woman, is the illegitimate daughter of one of my cousins, who, if I remember correctly, was paying you to care for the girl until she was old enough to work for herself. As you know, you did not receive the payment for last month, as my cousin died before she could send it to you," he removed a jingling sack of coins from his pocket, placing it on the table, "This is enough to pay for last month and this month. On her death bed, she made me promise that I would find her daughter and have her live with my family. I cannot deny a departing woman's wish."

A sudden movement, as well as the feeling something had brushed up against his leg, caught his attention. He looked down to see the girl standing so closely, making sure he would not leave without her. She held a large battered and limp stuffed dog with both hands, hugging it to her chest.

"I'm ready," she announced. Turning, she slipped silently out the door and back into the storm.

"You're not going to wait for the downpour to pass?" he called after her.

Her face appeared in the crack of the door, water already dripping from her hair, "I'm drenched as is it. A little more can't hurt too much. Besides, if we leave now, we should be out of the forest by nightfall." She disappeared behind the wall again.

A glimmer of a smile crossed his face at her eagerness. She was losing no time in starting her life over again. So bidding the woman good day, he followed after the girl, catching up after but a few strides.

"Is my mother with god?" she asked when they were well on their way. It was a question that had lingered in her thoughts since he had mentioned the woman's passing.

"Child, do you know your mother's profession?"

"The innkeeper lady said that mother was paid to sleep with men." The meaning eluded her. What was so important about sleep that people got paid to do it? And one of the times the innkeeper had returned from town, he told the girl that her "mother was damn good at what she did." Until then, the child hadn't even known that it was possible to not **be** good at sleeping. She looked up at the man, her new guardian, "But I don't see what that has to do with anything."

He forgot that it would be another few years before she'd understand what prostitution was. But he wondered how much she knew of her mother's personality, and feared that she had inherited it. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and said simply, "You'll understand in time."

"You have children, sir?" She continued looking straight ahead, concentrating on keeping up with the man.

He looked down at her in surprise. Then again, she must have been alone all her life, so playmates would be welcome, "Not currently. But hopefully soon." He could see her expression darken, but the moment passed and she moved on, thinking her own thoughts.

It was early evening when they entered his house from their journey. His wife had been waiting for them, busying herself with finding invisible pieces of dirt around the house and cleaning them away before the new person had arrived. Almost immediately after stepping foot into the room, the girl was swept away and run to the bathroom, where she received a good scrubbing and soak before having an overlarge nightgown pulled down over her head. Sitting at the table, she was still rubbing the soft cloth against her skin, while her plate was filled.

"Nasaka, is it?" she heard the woman addressing her.

"Yes," she replied, trying not to stare greedily at her food.

The woman laughed gently, "Go ahead. Eat." She leaned forward, watching the child trying to eat as politely as she could while still shoveling food into her mouth, "I am Mikoto," she introduced herself, "and this is my husband Fugaku. You'll be living with us until you can support yourself."

Nasaka looked up from her bowl of rice, "May I call you Aunt and Uncle?"

The question took both adults by surprise. They exchanged a glance before going to answer the question, but when they looked down at her, Nasaka was fast asleep.

"Poor thing," Mikoto whispered after she had tucked the girl into bed.

"She's stronger than she looks," Fugaku patted the child's head in approval, "She walked nonstop all this way in pouring rain with her little bare feet. Never once did she let me carry her."

"If that's the case, I shouldn't be surprised if she doesn't get sick tomorrow. I'll take her out and buy her some decent clothes and then get her cleaned up good."

"Enroll her in the academy while you're at it."

He received a sharp look as though being reprimanded, "She's a bit young, don't you think?"

True. Four years old was quite young, but there were children who graduated from the school around that age. He wanted to see her talent and worth, find out in actuality what she was made of. But tomorrow was not a day for him to look forward to. Word spread quickly around the village, and her mother's reputation was well known. Everyone would be curious about his new ward, planting themselves on the street to catch a glimpse of her, or asking him questions about what she was like.

Everyone would want to meet the whore's daughter.


End file.
